Forever the sullen girl, Fiona also seems to have become one with a certain humor. Her newest release, Extraordinary Machine, inspires contradictory imagery: that of a beatnik with a peppy, even somewhat chipper, backing track. A figure in black with a cigarette smoldering away in one hand (whether she actually smokes or not is immaterial here) and a microphone stand cradled in the other, accompanied by jazz but without all the frantic, frenetic pacing; a sultry flight of expression. In recent interviews, she has mentioned having a certain comfort in letting her craft take whatever path it's going to, never trying to force it, never trying to escape it. It absorbs when it absorbs and wanes when it wanes.

As someone who's always been a fan of her work, it's easy to be impressed, but what strikes me most about Extraordinary Machine is how much I identify with it. I connect to the offbeat collaboration between bouncy and assiduous. The title track could be described by some as a "little engine that could" type of work, some evidence that we can go on and make it through. Fiona's take on it, though, removes the sickeningly sweet overtones and just lets it be. Life is what it is -- "Be kind to me or treat me mean / I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine" -- but the rest of the song assures that not everyone handles that in the same way.

It's hard to describe something clearly when you could easily just gush and get all fan-girl about it. I wake up with pieces of this CD stuck in my head, and they travel in and out through the day. I appreciate her honesty and ability to compartmentalize a feeling, as in the lyrics to "Tymps (the sick in the head song)": "Those boon times, they went bust / My feet of clay, they dried to dust / The red isn't the red we painted, it's just rust." They are also unflinchingly direct, as in "Parting Gift": "I opened my eyes while you were kissing me once / More than once, and you looked as sincere as a dog / Just as sincere as a dog does, when it's the food on your lips with which it's in love."

From start to finish, it absorbs, and although that may be expected, the expectation doesn't prepare you for the first pluck of the strings or the first jangle of the piano. I love its easy juxtaposition. (Jessica Hildebrandt // 03/30/06)

For the true fan of the half-man, half-chicken god of shred known as Buckethead, any new release is cause for celebration. Luckily, he's been pretty prolific over the years, putting out an astounding body of work while staying as far away from the mainstream music community as you could possibly get. This guy doesn't just fly under the radar, he's actually buried about a mile below it, deep down in the earth. He has a rabid core of fans (mostly dudes that play metal guitar in their bedrooms) that think he's the coolest thing since the distortion pedal was invented, but he also has his detractors, who are mostly shred guitar devotees that spend their days practicing sweep-picking exercises at really loud volumes at their local Guitar Center store. If you're one the latter, stop reading and go listen to one of your crappy Steve Vai CDs.

For Enter The Chicken, Buckethead teamed up with System of a Down vocalist Serj Tankian and several other guest musicians to produce a record that is a buffet line of musical styles and guitar firepower. "We Are One" is the most accessible track on the disk and is as close to a standard rock song as you are gonna get with the chicken man at the controls. Tankian belts out the lyrics in his trademark nasally "quacking" style, while Buckethead backs him up with dense rhythmic chunks on the ol' six-string.

But the shred doesn't really drop until "Botnus," and as always, it's worth the wait. Much like his invented persona, the over-the-top silliness is what makes his solos so much fun. Guest vocalist Efrem Schulz brings the Cookie Monster death metal vocals like a champ, which make the track just flat-out rock. There are a few clunkers here, but for the most part when the focus stays on the heavier side of things, it ends up being pretty satisfying. And if you stick it out until the end, the last song, "Nottingham Lace," delivers the traditional Buckethead experience that fans of his earlier work are going to flip for. It's a six-and-a-half-minute instrumental that lets the chicken king do what he does best, and that is no-holds-barred freakout guitar playing.

Buckethead isn't ever going to become a household name. His brief (and some would say misguided) stint with Guns N Roses was the closest he was ever going to come to that. But true fans of his work shouldn't worry; he'll probably continue to put out record after record of tasty, nutjob-style playing. I mean, what do you expect from a guy that wears a mask and a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket on his head when he performs? (Ruben Dominguez // 03/16/06)

Rarely does a band I've never really listened to blow me away the first time I see them live. Usually, I have to build up some sort of familiarity with their catalog to really "get into the groove" (so to speak). Criteria, however, had me running to the merch table as soon as they left the stage following their recent gig in Houston, cash in hand, ready to buy up anything they'd released.

Now, I'm going to have to eat crow a little bit here. A while back, I gave The White Octave a negative review in these pages (Stephen Pedersen fronted that band before forming Criteria -- he also was in Cursive in the '90s). I have to admit, I'm still not a huge fan of The White Octave. But it almost seems as if what The White Octave hinted at has taken its fully-realized form in the guise of Criteria. There's still that slightly Cure-ish vocal delivery style, but now it seems more focused and precise. The music itself brings Rival Schools or Sensefield to mind -- driving guitars, interesting leads and fills to color in the spaces, and a monster rhythm section that is also super-tight. There's also lots of melody to be found on When We Break -- the songs are all infused with a pop sensibility beneath the angularity of some of the arrangements, and there are some very cool call-and-response and group vocal moments that actually don't seem forced.

Criteria's When We Break is highly recommended if you're slowly becoming an indie-rock curmudgeon like myself, who just wants a band to make good solid music that excites without the pretense and trappings that are associated with "hip scenester-ism" these days. In response to such things, my friend Dwayne recently (and probably rhetorically) asked, "Can't we all just rock?" Criteria's response? Yes. Yes we can. (Mel House // 03/16/06)

Damn. I did it again. I went to a show last night specifically to see Boston rockers Damone, rushing my little girl to bed, throwing on a T-shirt I didn't mind getting smoky, and blazing like a lunatic down the freeway to the club, all so I could get to the show before 8PM, when it was supposed to start...only to find out that the band had started playing at 7:30PM. I literally walked in just in time to hear singer/guitarist Noelle (last name Leblanc, but she goes by the first) say that the next song would be the band's last and tell the crowd to stick around for Less Than Jake. Fuck.

Don't get me wrong -- that last song was great, all distorted rawk guitars and pounding drums, but I'm starting to feel like I'm cursed when it comes to this band. The only other time I've seen them (at the same club, the downtown Engine Room, and with the same couple of friends, weirdly enough), I'd never heard of 'em before, and I stumbled in about halfway through their set with a big scowl on my face...and then found myself wishing I'd gotten to the club earlier so I could've caught the whole thing. The little snippet I caught then was the highlight of the night (and only later did I realize that "Damone" was actually the new name of "Noelle," a band a friend of mine had been raving about for a while via e-mail).

So, this time I thought I was ready. I got off work early so I could do all the evening stuff and still make it to the show on time, homeboy Mel had already bought the tickets so there wouldn't be much waiting in line, and I had enough cash in my pocket to hopefully afford a T-shirt and a copy of the band's latest release, the Out Here All Night EP. I was set. And in the end, I got to see one measly song (although to be fair, it sounded like even the earlybirds were left wanting; when Damone finished their last song after about 20 minutes of music, one disgruntled friend yelled out that it was a cocktease). I'm not blaming the band, by the way -- bassist Vazquez told me afterwards that they'd been assured it was the club's standard operating procedure...and this in a city where a show seldom starts before 10PM. Guess it serves me right for bitching about the lateness of shows here for a full decade now. sigh. Engine Room: 2; Me: 0.

What I'm left with, in the end, is the EP. And y'know, that might just be enough ('til the next time they come through H-town, at least). I'll admit up front that no, it's not From the Attic II, but I think the disc is far better as its own unique beast than if it were just a copy of what the band had done before. When the From the Attic songs were recorded, frontwoman Noelle was still in high school, after all, and the songs themselves (written by now-departed guitarist Dave Pino) were juvenile, sweet, and naive to match, all tomboyish toughness and teen angst. The older, wiser, more mature Damone of now would've looked ridiculous, frankly, if they'd tried to recapture that pseudo-youthful innocence, so it's a damn good thing they decided to go a slightly different road this time out.

Where From the Attic was the sound of the car wash and the high school crush, Out Here All Night is the sound of somebody leaving home and working on being an adult. Most of the sweet puppy love story-songs are gone, replaced by more thoughtful, more defiant, almost angry tracks along the lines of From the Attic's "On My Mind". The title track of the EP, for one, is a blazing roar of a cautionary note to a (possible?) love that ends by finally shrugging and saying, "You can say what you like / It doesn't matter to me." Then there's "What We Came Here For," which depicts a struggle between love and disillusionment and the painful aftermath, "Get Up And Go," which is an exhortation from Noelle to take a risk and quit playing it safe, and "Never Getting Mine (Demo)," which is a big middle finger of a get-lost-you-loser song. The only "soft" moment lyrically comes at the very end, with "Time And Time Again" almost holding out a conciliatory, supportive hand to a friend/loved one gone astray.

And despite the songwriting shift from Pino to the rest of his erstwhile bandmates, I'm loving the songs -- they're like the best moments of Veruca Salt's classic Eight Arms to Hold You crystallized and stripped of any hint of goofiness (and I'll admit it, the vocals remind me at points of Nina Gordon's, which ain't a bad thing). It feels a lot more honest, as well, knowing that the primary songwriter's actually the person doing the singing. I'm well aware that Noelle wasn't ever really the "character" she played/sang in Pino's songs, and that makes it especially nice to hear something this time and know it's actually her speaking for herself, in her own voice.

Oh, and then there's the sound. Beyond the lyrics, the music itself differs pretty significantly from the songs on In the Attic, even with the same sweet-yet-edgy voice soaring and snarling over the guitars. Again, it's almost like an age progression -- I read somewhere that Dave Pino originally wanted to write universal pop love songs like Rick Springfield, and he succeeded admirably, but with Out Here All Night the band's left the teenybopper pop behind and sped head-on into the realm of '80s metal. The guitar solos in "What We Came Here For" scream "Scorpions Rule, Dude!", the backing vocals on "Get Up And Go" sound like Hysteria-era Def Leppard (and believe it or not, I do mean that in a positive way), and the bombastic thunder of "Time And Time Again" comes off like Queen playing to a crowd of millions at Wembley. It's enough to make me want to bang my head and go digging through my old box of cheesy metal tapes; I'd almost forgotten what that adrenaline rush felt like.

It's fast, too, far speedier than most of In the Attic -- "Out Here All Night" could be a Sahara Hotnights song if you listened to it with your eyes closed, and "Get Up And Go" makes like The Donnas if they were, uh, actually as good as their hype says they are (sorry, but I've never been impressed). One review I've read of Damone in general referred to them as a "pop-punk" band, but despite the punkish fire, that's absolute bullshit; they're a rock band, of the full-on, leather-jacket-wearing, fist-pumping, arena-playing variety. There are echoes of Joan Jett and the Blackhearts all over the place, which is pretty appropriate, but I don't know that Ms. Jett ever sounded this badass. Noelle's and lead guitarist Mike W's guitars roar and scream, drummer Dustin Hengst pounds like a madman, and Vazquez drives the whole thing along like an out-of-control freight train, and the whole thing's got this slick, razor-sharp metallic sheen to it. The one exception's "Never Getting Mine," which is explicitly labeled as a demo (even though it sounds very finished) -- of the EP, it sounds the closest to the band's earlier stuff, production-wise.

(I should note, by the way, that the production made a lot more sense once I glanced at the liner notes -- and started giggling hysterically, in spite of myself: two of the five tracks on Out Here All Night were mixed by none other than Mike Shipley, the same engineer who mixed both of Def Leppard's best albums, Pyromania and Hyseria... Man. I must really be an '80s metal nerd...)

Oh, and this is apparently just a taste of what's to come on the band's sophomore full-length, due out in June 2006. Until next time, then, at least I've got this to hold me over and that to look forward to. In the Attic is still a classic, yes, and I still adore the "old" Damone, but hey, you can't sit in the past forever. The band probably puts it best on their Myspace site: "The 'carwash' is fucking closed." They've moved on, and good for them -- I'll happily move on right with 'em. (Jeremy Hart // 03/16/06)

This is heady, trippy stuff from a band that I know absolutely nothing about. But sometimes not knowing anything about a group is better than getting a CD in the mail from an artist that you really love. When there are no expectations, it's a lot easier to write a review that is honest. At least, that sounds good at the moment, don't you think?

With Maybe We're Making God Sad and Lonely, Dreamend get right to the business of transporting you back in time to a place where bands like The Chameleons plied their craft with reckless, reverberated abandon. It's all about going really slow and creating an aura around the melody so that it seeps into your subconscious like warm water through your fingers. According to the liner notes, this was all done pretty much live in the band's rehearsal space, a setting that, to my mind, really captures the mood. When bands go into a recording studio and try to recreate the sound that they've been used to hearing during their practices, they are always surprised by how different and sterile the sound is.

Great-sounding records usually come after thousands of dollars and lots of hours have been invested. But there's a lot to be said for Dreamend and for their decision to put themselves down on tape in the rawest form possible. This medium instantly adds a natural ambiance that cannot be created in a studio under any circumstances. And if you don't believe me, listen to any of the original Motown stuff, back when it was pretty much one microphone in one room with ten musicians playing all at once. It's obvious that Dreamend are pretty far removed from those R&B pioneers of the early '60s, but the recording blueprint is the same.

If you have the ability to sit still in a dark room and listen to the world breathe and exhale around you, I think you'll like this record. Put it on and paint something, write some poetry, or just close your eyes and make something up. Fans of My Morning Jacket and Built to Spill will find a lot to like here if they're willing to be a little less excited than usual. (Ruben Dominguez // 03/16/06)

I had high hopes for this, based on what I've heard in the past from John Dufilho's full-time band, the Deathray Davies, but despite the decent songwriting, his solo debut, I Remain, as Always, a Rabble Rouser from the Mountains, is a bit of a letdown. The tone throughout is low-key, which is fine, but what I like about the Davies is that frantic, gleeful abandon with which they attack a song -- see "Plan to Stay Awake," off of The Kick and the Snare, to see what I'm talking about. They're one of the few bands that can match the joyful noise of power-pop heroes Too Much Joy at their best, and that's saying something.

Here, though, Dufilho seems to revel in his bedroom melancholia, striking a pose not too far removed from the likes of Elliott Smith or maybe Badly Drawn Boy. The songs amble along at a middling pace at best, and the "down"-sounding vocals suck the life out of all but a couple of the tracks. It's almost like Dufilho makes his mission statement with the first track, the bleakly minimal "I'm Gonna Stay Under These Covers Today," and then follows it to the letter, not leaving the bedroom 'til the tape stops running. I guess I can't say I wasn't warned, but it's still a little disappointing to be missing the fire the Davies throw off.

More suspect, however, are the bits of 4-track screwing-around scattered across the disc. "The Bridge of Stolen Bicycles" is a fine, brief imitation of Blade Runner-/M83-ish electronic ambience, true, but is it really serving any purpose here, other than to derail the pop-rock train established by the previous track, "My Circuits Are Blown"? "I Can Be Nothing But Trouble" is the worst example of this -- all it is is a multitracked voice repeating the song title over muted electronic drums -- and it kills any momentum that might've been created between the David Garza-sounding "When Madness Strikes Again" and the catchy "Check the Engine."

The latter's one of the better tracks on here, by the way. There's also "What Are You Waiting For?," which has nicely fuzzed Superdrag guitars, "Paper Hats and Campfire Hands," which is surprisingly sweet and buoyant, and "I'm Outside," which is practically a Weezer B-side (albeit better than most of what R. Cuomo's come up with lately). That's the problem: there are good songs nestled deep within I Remain, but the wan Elliott Smith-isms and "ooh-I-just-bought-a-4-track!" experiments make 'em hard to find.

If it sounds like I'm being harsher than is warranted, yeah, I probably am. The thing is, John Dufilho's such an all-round good songwriter that I tend to expect more from him; if this were somebody I'd never heard of, hell, it'd be pretty decent. When you know the guy's capable of better, though... You don't congratulate somebody on coming in 31st in a marathon when you know they could easily come in fourth or fifth, do you? Same deal here. I guess it's a matter of doing what my real-job boss calls "managing expectations." Me, I'll be rocking out to Dufilho's full-time gig, instead, and waiting to see if, with all the junk now out of the way, he can bring the real deal next time out. (Jeremy Hart // 03/16/06)

What is there to be said about Gas Huffer? Lemonade for Vampires is just immature punk rock coming from a group of guys who have been around for ages. On this latest attempt to create old school-sounding punk rock, though, Gas Huffer has sadly failed to measure up to the truly great punk legends of their time. Even the name of the album really doesn't seem to coincide with the rest of the album. Tracks with titles like "Taco and Bottle", a wannabe bluesy song with childish lyrics, offer nothing to the musically inclined. I hear these guys are much better live, so until then... (Jessica Garcia // 03/16/06)

The Pacific Northwest is best known for two things: beautiful scenery and rain. Reverb Records, however, is doing its best to put the area on the map for another reason. The Portland label is at the forefront of the American shoegazer movement, and Eugene, OR, act The High Violets lead the charge. It's easy to focus on Kaitlin Ni Donovan's sultry vocals -- at times she sounds like a modern-day Siouxsie -- but it's the music that makes listeners take notice. The Violets' fuzzed-out instrumentation, with low droning overtones and faint poppiness (just enough to get you hooked), makes comparisons inevitable. The band gives nods to shoegazer legends My Bloody Valentine and The Jesus & Mary Chain, but one listen to To Where You Are proves that The High Violets are well on their way to making a name for themselves on their own. After the success of their debut for Reverb, 44 Down, the beauty of this new album comes as no surprise. Standout cuts include "Love Is Blinding," Sun Baby," and the haunting "Invitation." (David A. Cobb // 03/16/06)

Holopaw is a low-key post-Elliot Smith sextet. The two singers take turns -- one sings as if unsure of himself, with a quaver in his voice, and the other sings more assuredly, though not necessarily more loudly. On Quit +/- or Fight, most of their songs are pretty reserved; they do rock on occasion, but even that's pretty mellow.

A lot of the songs use unusual accents in the melodies, making the songs sound rhythmically more complex than they actually are, which is a nice effect. At other times they use actual different feels or rhythms in the same song to differentiate each part of the song. "Holiday" is a good example of the former, with the music seeming to float above the 3/4 rhythm, especially between phrases of the melody. The sustained keyboard chords and drum fills also contribute to the floating quality. The band also uses real time or feel changes frequently: "Little Shaver" is a good example, cycling between 4/4 and 3/4 parts at various points in the song.

"3-Shy-Cubs" sounds like a quiet anthem, with periodic handclaps and big (well, big for them) keyboard chords, and it eventually turns into more of a real rocker, with distorted guitar way in the background and a guitar solo at the end. "Curious" takes a pretty and seemingly simple song and again, using lots of the same kinds of rhythms in the melody, makes the song even more interesting. "Needle in the Sway" matches an attractive melody with an interesting Papa M-ish guitar part. Some of the songs aren't quite as interesting, such as "Clearing," which lacks a strong melody, and "Ghosties," which is entertaining and provides a change of pace but on which the melody is weak. "Losing Light," which starts the album off, has a nice rhythm and drive to it, but the melody doesn't contribute anything.

None of the songs is particularly bad, but since the band tries to be mellow and restrained, that's what you would expect to hear. They certainly seem to have some potential -- they just need to refine it. (Henry Mayer // 03/16/06)